Jareth walked into his room. It was empty. Well, not empty, he still had his bed, and cupboards and such, but, well, no one was here. Jareth didn't know why, but he was tired of his life. He sat on his bed and bent his legs towards his chest. This motion tightly brought his tights against his testicles, but he was used to it. He reached over the side of his bed, and pulled a large bottle of vodka from his ice bucket. He unscrewed the top, and dropped it to the floor, with the determination of someone who doesn't plan on being around to worry about picking it up later. He took a large swig. Then he took another. Jareth was never truly alone, there were many creatures in the labyrinth, many creatures in the city, hell, many creatures in the castle. But, the fact was, Jareth didn't actually like any of them. This was partially because they were intellectually inferior to monkeys. Jareth knew, that if he took them to the real world, fifteen years into the future, every last one of them would wear a backwards red cap, and quote "L-I-M-P Bizkit is right here", at every opportunity. Of course, Jareth couldn't know for sure what music would be popular in the future, but it's always easy enough to guess when you can read the signs.
Jareth extended his free hand in front of him, and one of his crystal balls rolled along the floor, slowly towards him. This might look like a clever conjuring trick, but even goblin castles have draughts, you know. He took a third swig of vodka as he waited, then dropped the bottle, shattering into the ice bucket. The crystal ball jumped from the floor into Jareth's opened palm, which probably was conjuring, this time, and he looked angrily into his own reflection. His eyes flared with resentment of the pitiful, lonely creature he had become. He smashed the crystal into his knee, and it split into a few large pieces, and many tiny shards. He selected a large, sharp piece, and brushed the rest down by his side.
He turned his left-hand palm up, and held the glass in his right. He had decided he was going to be brave. No squirming. No doubts. He'd just do it and that would be it. The boredom would stop. He steadily inserted the glass into his wrist, piercing his skin, and causing a steady flow of blood to drip out of him. He smiled. If only he'd had the courage to do this sooner. It was stinging rather badly, but he expected with one swift movement he could sever all the veins in his wrist, and it would all be over rather quickly. He was delirious with pleasure. Not that pain and death held a great appeal for him, but even this, even suicide was something that broke the daily monotony of his existence, and he embraced it. Of course, killing himself would raise all kinds of issues. For instance, would he want to die a three thousand year old virgin? To which the answer was, it beats his alternative of sex with goblins. Or chickens.
Jareth realised the thoughts of dying a virgin were the terrified fragments of his mind not wanting to die, trying to talk him out of this. Mainly out of spite towards himself, he dragged the glass ever so slightly further from one side to the other. It's said your life flashes through your eyes, but in most cases this isn't true. At least, not unless your entire life story is: "oh fuck, a truck, aaah". But Jareth's randomly firing brain was shooting out all kinds of reasons to live, and Jareth was buying none of them. He had no desire to continue the family reign, nor did he have anyone who would miss him. He thought no matter how good he could make his existence, he would still get just as bored of it, so why bother? Still, there was Sarah... but she didn't want him, and that's all there was to it. As the glass tingled against a vein, his mind screamed at him to have at least one more look at what she was doing before ending his existence.
So he did.
He removed the crudely created blade from his skin, and allowed the blood to drip. He dropped the blade with the rest of the glass, and flipped his hand in a seemingly (but deceptively so) complicated gesture, and the crystal materialised in his hand, intact once more. He spun it to one side, and the image entered.
A rather nude man, who must have been close to twenty, who appeared to be sporting a variation of a certain famous Nazi symbol as a tattoo, climbed over Sarah's naked body, and winked at her...
At this time, Unka walked through the door, partially because he needed a Jareth fix, and partially because the plot demanded it.
"I can't believe what I'm seeing..." Jareth vaguely murmured.
Unka wasn't really paying attention. He was staring at Jareth's testicles.
"Well, your eyes can be so cruel", came the goblin's reply.
"Yes..." Jareth mused, "just as I can be so cruel".
"You know, there's absolutely nothing worse than characters in fan fictions repeating lines from the original films".
"Shut up!" flared Jareth, failing to pick up on the fact Unka had done so first, and hating to be reminded that this was all just fiction.
Unka continued to stare at his testicles.
TO BE CONTINUED...
I hope that I can say the things I wish I'd said.